direction. Romaine waited for him. "My good
Hanbury," he said, "I have an instinct you are
coming in here. Am I right? I thought so.
Now, what can you want in this galley? I give
you fair notice I am come for a private audience,
and you will only be in the way."

Hanbury said to him, sadly, "Ah! why do you
come here? It is not prudent nor right. Surely
you, who are in the world, know how the world
talks. I know I have no title to speak to you,
but——"

"Well," said Romaine, "you have saved me
from some embarrassment by that speech; some
such misty notion was in my head, but I was too
polite to utter it. Seriously, my good friend
Hanbury, what are you at on hall-door steps?
Only that I know you to be a good sort of well-
meaning fellow that intends no harm, why really I
should be inclined to——" and he nodded his
head significantly. "But the point now is, I am
going in here, and I trust you will have the good
taste not to come in too."

"I say again," said Hanbury, firmly, "this
should not go on. It is unworthy of you,
Romaine—unworthy of any man of honour,
especially when you know the state of things in
this house. Come away with me down, and let
us talk over it quietly. Come."

The look of calm insolence that Romaine gave
him was unsurpassed. "I am beginning to
understand you, Mr. Hanbury; and it is time that
you should understand me. Let me remind you
that our acquaintance does not quite warrant this
tone of confidential remonstrance. I once 'went
out' as it is called, with a benevolent Frenchman—
a religious man too—for a similar friendly
remonstrance, which, not being a friend, he had
no business to make. You understand.
Religious man as he was, he did meet me, and
recollected it well afterwards."

"This sort of tone has no effect on me," said
Hanbury; "I have been in situations where I
have shown no regard for life. It has often
been a burden to me. I want no quarrel with
you; but I tell you plainly, this must not go
on!"

"This is far more rational," said Romaine,
good humouredly; "much better than the platitudes
you began with. Now, I tell you it shall
go on. That is, I shall take no interference."

"I shall find means," said Hanbury, looking
up, "never fear! Too many hearts are interested
in this young creature, to let her be lost without
an effort."

"Ah!" said Romaine, "now we have it all.
The good, faithful, well-meaning friend has let
it out! Well, go back to your employer, Mr.
Hanbury, and tell her from me that it will not
do. It has failed, and will fail. Her own
persuasion was of no use, and intimidation will
turn out equally profitable. There!" and he
rang the bell. "I am quite serious in this!
Look you, I shall be interfered with by no
woman, and certainly by no man. Mind! And
as you are a friend of the family, perhaps you will
hint to them that if this becomes a matter of
serious interference with my affairs, it may turn
out rather a dangerous game for them! I know a
good deal about most families, and what most
families would not wish to be known! Just hint
that to your friend, and, if you can recollect them,
in those words. There!"

"Then," said John Hanbury, slowly, "you
have quite decided you will do nothing?"

"Quite, my dear friend," he said, smiling;
"you, at last, understand me, I see."

"What could that heavy creature mean,"
thought Mr. Romaine. "He had a mulish
look as he went away. I think he hinted
that he would try and give me trouble. Dumpkoff,
as the Germans say: a regular dumpkoff.
Confound him!" he said, suddenly, "if he attempts
any of his high moral interference with
me, or, in his clumsy way, tries to give me any
annoyance, I shall just mash his big figure into a
pulp. Clumsy clown! I wonder I listened to his
prosy rubbish so long!"

CHAPTER XXXIV. MR. ROMAINE AND HIS "NET."

THAT afternoon the little lady was keeping a
lonely watch in her drawing-room. Since her
marriage, her grim father had felt that he was
not the same company for her that he was of
old. Perhaps he did not like to chill her new
existence—which had now, he supposed, been
bound up with youth and pleasure—with the
frost of age.

In all concerning her he had a sensitive delicacy.
She took it, that he had devoted himself
so long to her interests as a sort of sacrifice, and
now that she had found a more suitable
companion, was glad to be restored to his books.
She was sitting there alone, neither reading
nor writing, nor working, but simply thinking.
Now in a hopeless dejection; now lashing her
little soul into fury, with dwelling on what she
thought her wrongs. She was determined to
die sooner than "give in". Her dress—the dress
of Laura—which she was to play to Mr. Romaine's
Petrarch had come home not an hour
ago, and lay upon a sofa near her. Madame
Gay, who had come in person to see the effect,
and to lay on "a touch" here and there, was in
French ecstasies at the result. It was magnificent,
divine, "ravishing". Madame took away
the light out of her eyes! "And monsieur—
Monsieur Romaine"—added Madame Gay, with a
"fin" air, and a recollection of her Paris
training—"how he will be pleased!"

Mrs. Fermor coloured. She was not skilful
at the right reply or at the right manner. "He
has brought this humiliation on me!" she thought.
"He exposes me to the remarks of such people
as these."

Madame Gay saw the blush, and still following
her Paris instincts, took it for a blush of
pleasure.

"Ah," she went on, "such a gay, gallant
gentleman, and he admires madame so. Il